


Where Did Everybody Go?

by Gyhl



Series: Whumptober 2020 [6]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Eggsies don't make good pets, Kinda, Pet Play, Scenes from a WIP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26984788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyhl/pseuds/Gyhl
Summary: “Don’t Say Goodbye” |Abandoned|Isolation
Series: Whumptober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950607
Kudos: 21
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Where Did Everybody Go?

**Author's Note:**

> This is connected to a sort of pet play universe. Vampires are the dominant species, followed closely by weres. Weres spend the full moon fully human and are anthroanimals the rest of the time. Humans are the bottom rung, and are seen as sentient but not sapient. They’re sorted into two categories: thralls (or servants/slaves for non-vampires) and pets. Pets are generally “bred” to be pets and will be forcibly bred about the way dogs are (for the best looks / characteristics / breed purity / etc). People _do_ still keep dogs and cats and the like, but those are mainly kept by those who can’t afford a human pet.

He’d woken up woozy. He _hated_ that; it meant his owner had thralled him. Technically, he supposed, he was _always_ thralled. His owner had done it when he’d been taken in by the man. He’d been too young to understand _what_ was being done to him, and over the years his owner had only used that connection a handful of times… and mainly when it was when he was having trouble learning something that was being asked of him. The hardest thing had been learning not to talk. He’d been old enough to have started talking when his owner found him. It took a number of times as his owner’s mindless - and _conscious_ \- puppet before he’d gotten over the urge to blurt things out. He hadn’t spoken a word since.

But looking around, he _wanted_ to. He wanted to ask what in _fuck_ was going on. He was in a _cell_. His hands were in leather mitts, although he could still _feel_ the gloves he always wore; the gloves that kept his fingers bent. The mitts were locked on, as if they expected him to try and rip them off. He had braces on his feet, forcing them to stay pointed. It wasn’t an uncommon thing when teaching a feisty human to crawl, but he… hadn’t tried to stand without permission since he was little. There was a chain attached to each mitt and to each ankle; they came together on a ring on a belt he was wearing. And the belt was _all_ he was wearing around his waist. That was odd, too. Most humans wore a tight wrap to cover their genitals; except humans who were desexed, anyway, and he wasn’t. The most troubling part… he was muzzled. It was one of the vamane ones that would keep him from biting but still let him eat.

“It’s awake.”

He looked around, trying to find the voice. The owner of the voice stepped in front of his cell. He could see bandages on the man’s hand and arm. Fresh bandages.

“We oughta put it down,” he said. “Can’t sell a fuckin’ biter.”

 _Biter?_ He looked at the man’s bandages again. Had _he_ done that?

“We sure he ain’t rabid?”

He heard a scoff; a woman this time. She stepped in front of his cell, but was looking at the man.

“Do you _really_ want to accuse a Lord of selling a rabid human?”

 _Selling?!_ Why had he been sold? What had he done? And why had his owner made him fight like that? Why did he want people to think his sold pet was dangerous?

“...no,” the man sulked.

“You’ll be fine,” she reassured and then looked down at him. “I don’t know _how_ we’re going to sell him.”

“Easy: don’t ask questions.”

He was there for six months before he was bought. He spent the better part of a year with her. She was nice. She gave him a nice little bed to curl up in and fed him fairly decent wet food. It wasn’t people-food, but it wasn’t utter shit. The hardest thing to adjust to was not sleeping in his owner’s bed. But that was fine. She took care of him and she didn’t hurt him. And then she’d gotten pregnant, and while she’d been willing to risk a biting human when it had just been her, she wasn’t willing to with a child, even if he’d never so much as snarled at her.

They still listed him as a bite risk and he was passed up time an again. It wouldn’t have been _that_ bad, living in the shelter, if they kept him with _other_ humans. But he was a bite risk. So he couldn’t be in with the others. He became eager to please and needy for physical contact. Apparently _too_ needy as his third owner returned him for wanting too much attention.

His fourth owner was a were; a hulking wolf of a man who kept a pair of wolfdogs. He was little more than their chew toy, although they never broke the skin. More than once, his owner took him out onto the property and unleashed him. After the first time - when he heard his owner sic the two wolfdogs on him - he took off running the moment the leash came off. He’d tried once to run standing instead of on his hands and the balls of his feet; his owner beat him for it. He waited until the full moon came, until his owner was little more than human, and broke out of his cage. He’d run, but his owner and the dogs found him before noon the next day and he’d been hauled off to a human vet, one who specialized in modifying pets. One simple surgery to cut his Achilles tendons and his days of running away were over. It also made him too slow to be of any interest to hunt down, and so he was, again, sent back to the shelter.

His fifth owner, a man who both wanted a pet human and had children, kept him chained up in the backyard most of the time. The children weren’t allowed near him and the wife was _very_ loud about her mistrust of her husband’s pet. It wouldn’t have been all bad, but anything that went wrong - kids broke something, got into something, anything like that - was immediately his fault. It got to be that he spent all day chained up in the yard. He had a little house and spent most of his time curled up in it. By the time he was sent back yet again, he’d decided one thing: since he was a Problem and a Biter, he was gonna _be_ a fuckin’ problem and a biter. If for no other reason than to stop hoping that he’d be taken care of and just stop having to leave the shelter.

His sixth owner was a dragoness. She hadn’t been worried about his being a biter, and after she got him home, he realized why. Her scales were hard as armor and he hurt himself biting her more than he’d hurt her. So he’d waited; waited until she was asleep and broke into her hoard. He found something shiny and of a decent size and made off with it. He hid it and waited. When she woke up, she immediately noticed the theft and demanded he show her what his did with it. He just looked away from her. She ended up angry enough to swipe him with her claws, cutting his cheek open. One of them had cut above his eyebrow and down through it. She hadn’t bothered to take him to a human vet before dumping him back at the shelter. His eye was touch-and-go for months before it healed; both he and the woman at the shelter were surprised when he didn’t lose sight in the eye.

His next three owners might have been decent to him, but he never gave them a chance to show it. As soon as they got him home, he started being as much trouble as possible. If they took the muzzle off of him, he’d bite whoever he could. None of them owned him for long and, after the last one, the shelter kept from showing him to anyone. They kept him mostly isolated after that, which only let his anger become more deep-seated. The only one he didn’t immediately try to fight was the woman who’d been there when he’d first woken up. She was his only gentle contact for the next couple of years.

It had been nearly ten years from the day he’d first woken up in the shelter when a pair of relatively young vampires walked through the door. One wore glasses and had a full shaved head (and not, mind you, because it was the current in thing with younger vamps) and the other had softly curling hair.

The one with the softly curling hair (who was in a leather jacket and had an almost ungodly amount of eyeliner on) slowly approached the human pets. He looked over the males and the females before moving on to the last one. He looked at the human, at his back anyway, and all the chains he was in and the straps from the muzzle.

“That one.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry. There’re perfectly _tame_ ones right-”

“I want _him_ ,” Harry said. “Look at the scars on him.” He tapped below the window, where the card about the pet showed that he was a biter, a constant problem, and should be kept out of homes with children, other pets, or easily accessed valuables. “Look at how long he’s been here; no one’s going to take him.”

Merlin sighed. He _knew_ that tone well enough to know there’d be no talking him down. “Alright, alright. I’ll go find someone to help us with… that.”


End file.
